Best Laid Plans
by Alekto
Summary: COMPLETE Will Turner accompanies Elizabeth to England when her father, Governor Swann is recalled to London. However, the sea crossing doesn't turn out to be as quiet they would have liked when their ship is intercepted at sea.
1. Part 1

Best Laid Plans

By Alekto

Disclaimer: I didn't own 'em last week, I didn't own 'em yesterday, I don't own 'em today... Anyone else noticing a trend?

Summary: Set after PotC. Will Turner decides to accompany Elizabeth to England when her father, Governor Swann is recalled to London. However, the sea crossing doesn't turn out to be quite as uneventful as they would have liked.

Rating: PG

A/N: As with "Storm Warning", this is written from Will's POV. For the nautical stuff I thoroughly recommend "Seamanship in the Sage of Sail" by John Harland. It's not an easy read, but it is terrifyingly comprehensive. Again this is unbetaed, so apologies for any errors that have slipped through.

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Best Laid Plans. Part 1 (of 2)

"Sail ho!"

Like the others on the _Larne_'s quarterdeck I gazed upwards as the lookout's cry reached us.

"Where away?" came the answering bellow from close by, uttered by a voice trained over long years to be heard above the worst gale. As Elizabeth, her father and I had discovered over dinner the previous evening, Captain Nathaniel Locke, master of the _Larne,_ rarely managed to talk with anything close to a regular speaking volume. His was a voice suited far more to the quarterdeck than the dining salon.

"Fine on the larboard quarter," returned the lookout from high above us. A few seconds passed, and he went on, "looks like a cutter, an' she's coming up fast on us."

From a box near the wheel Locke took out a glass, and leaning on the taffrail he studied the tiny white smudge on the horizon behind us that was apparently a ship. "Aye, she's a cutter alright," he allowed after studying her for awhile, "and running with every scrap of canvas crowded on that she'll carry."

"Why on earth for?" wondered a quiet, female voice. Elizabeth. I turned and smiled a greeting, while Locke and the others on the quarterdeck doffed their hats to her. It appeared that I'd been too occupied with our mysterious pursuer to have noticed the arrival of my beloved Elizabeth and her father, the pair far and away the most august of the _Larne_'s several paying passengers.

"Couldn't say, miss," Locke answered.

"Might it be pirates, do you think Captain?" asked Governor Swann with barely concealed apprehension.

"I doubt it, sir," Locke replied thoughtfully before continuing in an attempt to allay his passenger's concern. "It would take more than a cutter to take on the _Larne_. There can't be more than a handful of pirate ships in all of the Caribbean of a size to threaten us. My _Larne_ might not be the fastest or handiest of ships, but we carry eight six-pounders that would make kindling of anything but a ship of war."

While her father nodded in relief, Elizabeth and I exchanged glances. Neither of us could claim any great nautical expertise, but it seemed we both shared the same doubts that the small operating crew of a merchantman such as the _Larne _had anything like the numbers or training to make effective use of the guns that Locke was so proud of. The line of gunports so clearly visible on the _Larne_'s main deck was surely more a bluff than anything, and I think both of us hoped it would not be called.

Certain that the cutter presented no threat and increasing curious as to her intentions, Locke ordered the ship hove to and waited for her to run down on us. Soon even without a glass I could see that Locke hadn't understated things when he said she was carrying full canvas. The cutter, at perhaps no more than fifty or sixty feet long was less than half the length of the much bulkier _Larne_,but her single mast and indeed, much of her deck was all but invisible underneath the sails she carried. I used some of my recently gained nautical experience to put names to them: a gaff rigged mainsail secured to a boom projecting far over the cutter's side, huge triangular staysail in front of the mast, and in front of that, attached to the jibboom the smaller triangular jib. Above it all was a bulging, square topsail. Still we could make out no flag or any other signal. The cutter's speed alternately buried her prow in the swell so deeply as for us to lose sight of the hull itself for some seconds before lifting it well clear, only to plunge back down into the next wave. My worry that she was a pirate seemed unfounded as, from what I could see of her decks and rigging, I could make out no more than four or five men busily engaged in sail handling rather than the heavily armed crowds that a pirate would have surely carried.

With her less than a hundred yards from us, and Locke beginning to worry that she would collide with his ship, I watched as her dark clad helmsman hauled the tiller over to bring her into the wind. The topsail was quickly clewed up, then the jib and massive staysail were backed and the cutter's way came off her, bringing her to a halt as neat as could be just to windward of us. Minutes later a small boat was swayed out and three men climbed down into it, two at the oars and a third sitting in the stern.

The two oarsmen made light work of the rough sea that tossed the little boat about like a child's toy during the short crossing, and as they neared, it occurred to me that the man in the stern looked disturbingly familiar. Alarmingly familiar, come to think of it.

"It can't be," I heard Elizabeth breathe in disbelief.

Then a slightly off-cockney drawl cut across the water between us. "Oi! You there! I'm coming aboard, right?"

"Dear God, it's Jack Sparrow!" muttered Locke in appalled realisation. "We're lost!"

"Captain Locke," began Elizabeth in that cuttingly superior voice she occasionally used, "it seems to me that pirates intent on taking a prize would seldom have the courtesy to ask for permission to come aboard!"

Locke looked at her, uncertain how to answer while Jack, it seemed, had taken the lack of gunfire as an invitation to come aboard and clambered over the side with Mr Gibbs and another whom I didn't recognise. The sailors and other passenger on the _Larne_ formed a loose circle around their outlandishly clad visitors.

"Oi? You there?" I questioned with a grin, approaching Jack. "I thought 'ahoy' was the correct nautical term."

"Yeah, but seein' as 'ow you've got such a wonderful record of not usin' correct nautical terms, I thought I'd try somethin' different so's I wouldn't 'ave to take time to explain it to you. Again." He tilted his head slightly to one side and smirked at me, gold teeth glinting in the light.

I crossed my arms and tried to put on my best glower, but somehow, as in most of the recent meetings I'd had with Jack Sparrow, the grin I'd been hiding pushed its way through. "Jack, what are you doing here, and for that matter, where's the _Pearl_? You haven't lost her again, have you?"

"What? No, she's jus' getting' cleaned up some. Barbossa left 'er in a bit of a mess, y'see. See, 'im captainin' 'er with 'im bein' dead 'n' all... well, let's jus' say 'e didn't bother doin' a lot of the things that needed doin'."

I could see Jack's point. The _Pearl_ might have sailed like a witch, but when I'd seen her while I'd been Barbossa's prisoner, I'd noticed how poor a state she appeared to be in, but at the time had put it all down to the curse. It seemed I was wrong. "So what's the story with the cutter?" I asked, more than a little wary of the answer I was sure I'd get.

"I borrowed it," he replied.

"Like you 'borrowed' AnaMaria's boat?"

He looked at me, a hurt expression on his face. "Not at all!" he averred. "I asked an' everythin'."

From behind Jack I saw Gibbs struggling to hide the snort of amusement it seemed Jack's words had evoked, turning it into a not entirely convincing cough.

"I asked, didn't I?" he protested, alternating his gaze between Gibbs and I. "I sat the man down, poured 'im a drink, an' asked 'im polite as ye like: 'Mind if I borrow that cutter of yours for a while?' An' 'e said to me: 'Sure, Cap'n Sparrow, you borrow 'er as long as you like.' Ain't that exactly what 'e said to me, Mr. Gibbs?"

"Aye, Cap'n, that 'e did," agreed Gibbs, then went on much more quietly, "an' given 'e 'ad a pistol pointed at 'is 'ead at the time, I don't reckon 'e would have said anythin' different."

Jack shrugged expansively as if the exact circumstances surrounding the offer were neither here nor there. "But I _did_ ask," he repeated with the flourish of an argument-winning answer. I gave up. Sometimes there was no winning an argument with Jack Sparrow.

"So, anyway Jack. What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see you an' Elizabeth, an' to give ye a couple o' things. Weddin' presents, ye might say."

I felt the colour rising in my cheeks, and heard Governor Swann's discreetly embarrassed cough. Around us the crew and passengers of the _Larne_ were looking on, like theatregoers watching a play far different from the one they'd intended seeing, but enthralled nonetheless. Jack looked at me, then to Elizabeth, then to Swann. "'Ave I said somethin' I oughtn't?" he asked with a frown of bemusement on his face.

"Er... well... It's like this, you see... I haven't exactly..." I stammered.

"And I hadn't quite..." put in Elizabeth.

"Yes. Quite!" Governor Swann rounded out, interrupting us both.

"Well, it's good to hear we're clear where we all stand, then," agreed Jack, nodding seriously.

I contented myself with a glare.

Any future comments were forestalled by a shout from above. "Deck there! Sail off the windward beam! She's a three-master for sure!"

I saw Locke reach for the glass only for it to be snatched from his hands by a suddenly much more purposeful Jack Sparrow. Any protest Locke might have made died unsaid with a single look at the expression on Jack's face. He met my gaze for a moment, paused as if wanting to say something, then the old familiar grin crossed his face. "Back in a sec'," he said before he turned, tucking the glass in his vest as he did, and climbed rapidly up the _Larne_'s main mast to where the increasing confused lookout must have been waiting.

The rest of us left below exchanged glances, not knowing what to say. Then I looked at Gibbs, saw the beginnings of worry there, and knew that he at least had some idea of what was going on. "Mr. Gibbs," I started.

"Wait, lad," he said softly. "Just wait for Jack."

We didn't have to wait long. After a few minutes Jack slid down one of the mainmast's backstays and handed the glass back to Locke, then without a word to us headed up to the windward side of the quarterdeck to watch the approaching ship. Governor Swann led the rush to follow him. "Captain Sparrow," he began, "what is that ship?"

Jack finally looked at us. "Pirates!" he answered with a sardonic grin that quickly faded, and with it any hint of good humour leeched out of his face. "Pirates," he repeated. "Captain 'Black Bob' Crauford and the _Blood Eagle_."

At that the stunned quiet on the quarterdeck became bedlam. Jack Sparrow might take your gold, but everyone there knew that Black Bob Crauford would kill you, and enjoy doing it. Captain Locke was shaking his head in dismay, muttering to himself. "_Larne_ can't outrun him, and if we fight we'd stand as much chance against his guns as a rowboat..."

"Captain Sparrow," asked Governor Swann, taking control, "can we not transfer the _Larne_'s passengers and crew to your ship? She appears a more weatherly craft than the _Larne_, and in her surely we might stand a chance of outrunning Crauford's _Blood Eagle_."

Jack shook his head. "Take too long. She'll be on us in less'n an hour, an' with this sea I can't lay the _Kathleen_ alongside to take everyone off in one go, which means they'd all 'ave to come over by boat. An' there ain't enough time for that." Then he went on in a much softer voice, pitched for our ears alone. "Mind you, I reckon if it's jus' the three of you to get across, we could get clean away, no problem at all."

My instinctive refusal of his scheme warred with my concern for Elizabeth's welfare should the _Larne_ and her passengers fall into Crauford's hands. Elizabeth, however, was characteristically forthright in her opinions. "Captain Sparrow, that is an infamous suggestion!" she retorted sharply. "I refuse to leave these people to such a horrible fate."

"I agree, Captain Sparrow," the Governor added, courageously willing to stand by his principles despite his evident fear at the inevitable outcome.

Jack scowled at us and muttered something under his breath about the foolishness of "damned idiotic stiff-necked women..." then he looked again at the ever nearer _Blood Eagle_. "Right, if that's it, I'll best be off, then!" he announced abruptly and turned to go, leaving the rest of us standing somewhat stunned on the quarterdeck. Shaking off the shock at such callousness, I hurried after him.

At Jack's gesture, Gibbs and his cohort were already climbing back down into the _Kathleen_'s launch and I caught up with Jack as he was about to join them. "You're honestly just going to run out on us?" I accused.

"Pirate!" he reminded with a smirk.

I looked at him. Pirate he may be, but I knew Jack had his own, albeit slight odd, set of principles however well he liked to hide them. And in that moment of awful clarity I knew he had no intention of running away.

"I'm going with you!" I blurted out.

"No you're bloody well not!" he argued.

"I'm going with you," I repeated firmly, and glared at him with all the stubbornness I could muster.

He looked at me for a few moments as if gauging my intent, then shrugged, nodded once, "alright then," he said, as if he might have been agreeing to nothing more adventurous than a jaunt around the bay. With a characteristic grin he followed me as I scrambled down into the boat, trying not to trip up on my sword which seemed intent on getting entangled between my legs as I climbed. We pulled away from the _Larne_'s side and I didn't dare look back for fear of the disappointment I felt sure I would see in Elizabeth's face at my apparently craven action.

Soon I was climbing up the side of the _Kathleen_ and it immediately struck me how very much smaller than the _Larne_ she was, not to mention the fact that the _Kathleen_ carried no guns.

Less than a minute after the boat had been swayed on board, I felt the cutter's movement change as the jib and staysail were sheeted home and the gaff mainsail hauled taut so the boom was nearly parallel to the line of the ship. I moved to help Jack who was having to lean heavily into the tiller to hold our course so close to the wind.

Directly in front of us the _Blood Eagle_ loomed closer than ever.

"Don't worry, Will my lad," he grinned at me. "I have a plan!"

Jack Sparrow had a plan. I looked at him then back at the _Blood Eagle_.

Jack Sparrow had a plan.

God help us all.

TBC.


	2. Part 2

A/N Part 2 got a little large, so contrary to what I said in Part 1, this is now a 3 part story.

Best Laid Plans. Part 2 (of 3)

Within a couple of minutes of pulling away from the _Larne_ we were beating hard to windward, the cutter's fore-and-aft rig enabling us to sail far closer to the wind than any square rigged ship could ever have managed. I was quickly soaked to the skin from the spray thrown up by our passage. The _Kathleen_ was heeling to such an extent in the wind that every wave sent water crashing over the leeward side of the deck, swirling into the scuppers before running back out. Next to me Jack stood unflinching as he urged the cutter through the sea, his eyes fixed on the _Blood Eagle._

Then a thought occurred to me. "Jack," I began, having to shout a little to be heard over the noise of the sea, "Can't you warn Crauford off, or something? Say that you've taken the _Larne_ already as your prize? Isn't there something in that 'Pirates' Code' of yours about that?"

"An 'honour among thieves' thing, you mean? A sort of 'I got 'ere first, so you lot can jus' sod off' thing?"

I nodded.

"You know, Will, that's a good plan," he shouted back at me. "I like it! I really do! Unfortunately there's nothin' like that in the Pirates' Code, which I admit is a disappointment given the circumstances, and as for honour among thieves? There's no such thing. But that apart, it's a damn good plan! I mean that!"

I glared at him. He merely grinned back before returning his attention to the _Blood Eagle_. "So what _are_ you going to do?" I finally asked.

"Ram 'er!" he replied succinctly.

I looked at him in horror, and wished for one shameful moment that Commodore Norrington were here. And the _Dauntless_. And a few hundred marines as well would have been a nice addition. "Jack, this is crazy!" I protested after I'd regained some sort of control over my voice.

"When's that ever stopped us!" Gibbs grimaced before yelling back dryly.

"But she's huge!" I went on. "The _Kathleen_'s too small; she won't even dent her hull!"

"She doesn't 'ave to," Jack said cryptically. "We aim for 'er weakest point. All we got to do is take out 'er jibboom and bowsprit and then with any sort o' luck at all, especially in this sea, that'll bring the foremast down as well. An' with that lot 'angin' over the side in the water, actin' as a sheet anchor, _Larne_'ll 'ave more'n enough time to get away."

"And what about us, Jack?" I asked. "What happens to us?"

He looked at me again and smiled an odd half-smile. "Yeah, well, I never said it was a _good_ plan."

Once more his gaze slipped back to the _Blood Eagle_, and mine followed it. As I studied the oncoming ship, my imagination toyed with what would happen when the ships collided and deep down I felt the first stirring of real fear. It seems almost like I had two selves. One was a physical body, whose hands trembled even as they gripped the tiller, whose knees had no muscles in them, whose stomach was a sponge slopping about with cold water, and whose vision had sharpened making colours brighter, outlines harder and showing up formerly unnoticed details with disturbing clarity. The other self was remote, aloof from my body, aghast at what I was going to do, appalled that I agreed with it yet coldly determined to go through with it in the knowledge that it was the only chance Elizabeth had. And I wondered what had possessed Jack that he was prepared to do this. Had it been a regard for my safety? Or maybe for Elizabeth?

That he knew what he was doing was tantamount to suicide was clear enough, but still he was intent of carrying it through to the end. And I wondered if I'd ever begin to understand what went on in that convoluted mind of his. On the deck in front of me a coil of rope caught my notice, and as I studied it, I became lost in noticing tiny details: it was strange, like I'd never seen a rope before in my life. I saw the strands of hemp fibre, twisted and wound together. Every inch or so there was a flash of coloured yarn marking the length of the rope: 'The Rogue's Yarn' Mr. Gibbs had once called it, a strand put into every rope made in the Royal Navy dockyards, a mark that a rope was Navy Board property. I almost smiled, guessing how it had ended up on a civilian cutter in the Caribbean. Below the coiled rope I could see the tiny ridges of the wood grain on the deck planks standing proud where the softer wood between them had been scrubbed away over the years. The grain, the knots in the wood, the texture was so clear it was like I could touch it. It was intoxicating, as if my whole life I'd been looking on the world through a steamed over window that had only now been wiped clear.

When I looked up again, the ship was closer. Slowly I realised that fear came only when death was a matter of chance, a possibility yet beyond a man's certain knowledge or control. But this was different: I'd made the decision and knew there was no way out. And as I accepted that inevitability, the fear ebbed away as quickly as it had come. I glanced over at Jack only to find him looking at me, his eyes ablaze with excitement, a disturbingly broad grin on his face. It occurred to me that I'd only ever seen that particular grin on Jack's face when things seemed at their worst, and disaster was in the offing. This time I couldn't help but to grin back.

I could now make out details on the _Blood Eagle_, the black and red flag at the main, the red painted eagle figurehead and more worryingly the lines of stubby cannon on both sides. Like any ship of war, she had a lethal beauty to her. I'd barely noticed the run out cannon before I heard a couple of distant rumbles sounding like asthmatic coughs followed by the unmistakable, unforgettable sound of cannonballs coming towards us and far too close for comfort. A sound of tearing canvas and the appearance of a sudden hole in the sail above us was no more than confirmation.

"She got a couple of bow chasers!" yelled Jack. "An' it's all she can bring to bear without wearin' ship and bringin' 'er broadsides into play. Arrogant bastard doesn't figure us for enough of a threat for him to waste time doin' somethin' like that!" he went on gleefully.

About a minute later, the two bow chasers coughed again. I caught the splash of one cannonball into the sea about fifty feet away, but of the other I saw no sign. "Don't mind them, Will," he shouted. "Crauford's gunners'll be 'ard pressed to hit anythin' in this sea."

Still the _Blood Eagle_ ploughed on. The nearer she came, the less beautiful she appeared: the cutwater could not soften the bulging bow, the bow wave was no longer the graceful feather of white it had earlier seemed, but a mass of water being shoved aside by the brute force of a ponderous hull. The white sails were no longer shapely curves, but stained, overstretched, overpatched and badly setting. The lethal Amazon she had been in the distance was revealed on closer inspection as a raddled virago of the streets. But raddled or not, it was clear she was far from toothless.

"Less than fifteen minutes now," said Jack to me, then more loudly he called out. "Lay aft, all!"

Gibbs and the five others of the crew who I'd never seen before gathered at their Captain's order. "You all know that's Crauford's _Blood Eagle_ and I reckon you've likely figured out by now what I've got in mind. An' I reckon you've all figured out as well that he hasn't figured it out yet, which means that by the time 'e does figure it out it'll be too late! Now all of you men make sure you've got an axe or cutlass, an' when we hit, do what you can to get on board the _Blood Eagle_. The _Kathleen_'ll start to roll over when she's hit, but our riggin' 'll catch 'er bowsprit 'n' jibboom 'n' more 'n likely break 'em. That'll mean there'll likely be a fair amount o' riggin' 'angin' down by then, so grab onto somethin' an' climb. When you're on board, cut every halyard, stay, brace and shroud you can find. Mr. Gibbs, gather what loose powder we have and damp it down. When I give the word, light it. I want as much smoke as you can manage. But if you don't mind Mr. Gibbs, we jus' want a smoke screen, so avoidin' blowin' us all up by mistake would be a nice gesture."

Gibbs gave him a long suffering look, but restricted his comments to an "aye, Cap'n," while the others nodded seriously at Jack's orders for them, then returned to their posts. Handkerchiefs were dampened down and tied around our faces as protection from the smoke that would soon be swirling around us. I was confused by the pirates' acceptance of the situation, and looked askance at Jack. In an unusually sober tone all he said was, "Some people need killin', Will." I wondered what Crauford might have done that was so terrible that even pirates considered him beyond the pale.

Then I had no time left to wonder. The _Blood Eagle_'s bow towered above us like the side of a house as she came on, enormous, relentless, implacable. The combined bowsprit and jibboom, which from further away had looked no bigger in size than a flagpole, was revealed as longer than the _Kathleen_ herself, like the trunk of a great pine tree and I despaired that we could ever have hoped to damage her at all. On the ship's fo'c'sle and around the beakhead a crowd of pirates were gathered, some waving swords or axes, others readying muskets and pistols. As I watched, both bow chasers flashed red and spurted smoke. Overhead I heard wood splinter. The eagle figurehead, crudely carved and painted a garish red, looked almost close enough to touch. On the side of her hull I could make out the seams of the planking. Greyish patches showed up where salt spray had dried on the black painted timbers.

"We'll 'ave some smoke now, if you please Mr. Gibbs!" yelled Jack, his voice muffled slightly by the handkerchief. At the order, Gibbs touched a lit taper to a pan in front of him which immediately flared, throwing out clouds of grey smoke so dense that within seconds he was hidden from view. A few seconds later the smoke reached where we were stood at the tiller and despite the mask, I could feel the acrid bite at the back of my throat and was blinking to try and clear my streaming eyes.

Somehow, though, through it all it seemed Jack could still see. "Now, Will," he muttered to me, then yelled out, "let fly halyards and sheets!" and between us we pushed the tiller over as far as it would go. High overhead, sails released from the control of their sheets shuttered wildly in the wind, and mere inches above my head the boom swung over at a speed that would surely have killed anyone it might have struck. The persistent tat-tat-tat against the _Kathleen_'s timbers, sounding almost like a woodpecker, was the only clue I had that the pirates clustered around the _Blood Eagle_'s bow were firing at us.

What relief I felt from such the near miss from the boom faded as I had the momentary glimpse of the massive bulk of the _Blood Eagle_'s bow looming from the smoke that surrounded us before the _Kathleen_ shuddered sideways under the crushing impact. The easy sound of the sea, the creak of ship's timber exploded into a nightmare of noise. From all around I heard wood crunching and cracking under the strain; ropes snapping under enormous strain lashing through the smoke like lethal whipcords; water splashing, surging, gurgling; and through it all, the wordless, insane shouts of men roaring their anger and fear through the chaos.

And then the _Kathleen_ began to heel as the _Blood Eagle_'s bulk slowly, inexorably worked to roll her over. I couldn't see what was going on above us, had no idea whether or not Jack's crazy plan had worked. Through gaps in the smoke I could make out tangled rigging and torn canvas, but had no clue if it was ours or theirs. The _Kathleen_ shuddered again and the whole ship dropped suddenly by about a foot. The _Blood Eagle_ was pushing us under!

TBC


	3. Part 3

Best Laid Plans. Part 3 (of 3)

"Grab a rope, lad!" screamed a hoarse, half-familiar voice from out of the smoke. "Climb!"

A rope swung down from above me. I reached out to grab, but missed and it swayed past me into the dense smoke. Cold, grey water sloshed around my feet, and I looked around, frantic for something, _anything_ to grab hold of. Through the smoke I thought I could make out another length of rope and leaped, hoping beyond hope that it was attached to part of the _Blood Eagle_ rather than the _Kathleen_, but knowing even as I did that I had no other choice.

I grabbed for the rope as it brushed my fingers, snagged it and then was clinging on with all the strength and desperation I could muster. The force of my leap swung us like a pendulum and for a couple of seconds I was beyond the pall of smoke, and I looked back to see the pitiful wreck of the little _Kathleen_ lying now partially submerged and completely on her side. Part of her hull looked to have been impaled and caught up on one of the flukes of the _Blood Eagle_'s anchors, trapping her in place until her own weight, and the weight of the water that was surely even now rushing in to fill her hull, could tear her free. It was a sobering sight.

Then the rope reached the limits of its upward swing and started its return back into the smoke and the wreckage it concealed. The paralysis of scant moments earlier fled, and with desperate urgency I shinned up the rope as fast as I could. I had managed no more than five feet before I was back into the smoke. From its depths, loomed a red eagle, shrouded by rope and sailcloth, and frantically, I lunged for it. The impact drove the breath from my body, but still I held on as the rope disappeared back into the now thinning smoke through which I could see the splintered end of the bowsprit less than ten feet away from me. The rest of the bowsprit and the jibboom were below, entangled with what was left of the _Kathleen_.

I looked back at the _Blood Eagle._ Beyond a melee on the fo'c'sle - was it Jack that I saw there fighting? - I saw others of the _Blood Eagle_'s crew shouting in alarm and gesturing at the foremast. I followed their gaze. The splintered remnants of the fore topgallant mast were hanging down, fouling the fore topsail which even as I watched was ripped in two. The topmast behind it was bowing inexorably forwards and I heard the whining groan of stressed timber escalate into a deafening crack as the whole topmast split down its length like a strip of bamboo. For a moment I was sure it was coming down on top of me, but the off centre weight of the topgallant mast pulled it to one side and it crashed into the water. As Jack had hoped, it acted like an anchor and the _Blood Eagle_ slewed abruptly to one side.

The louder popping and gurgling from underneath my perch returned my attention to the _Kathleen_ which still lay caught across the _Blood Eagle_'s bow. She was almost completely submerged by now. Air escaping from hatches and between timbers hissed and whistled, producing great bubbles like the death throes of some great sea monster. Suddenly I almost lost my grip as without warning, the cathead, from which hung the anchor that had impaled the _Kathleen,_ snapped like a carrot, throwing splinters in all directions. The freed anchor and chain splashed into the water, dragging the wreck of the _Kathleen_ down with it.

I watched her disappear into the deep, and felt an inexplicable sense of loss for a ship I had known for no more than a few hours. My reverie was to be short lived.

"Oi! You!" yelled an angry voice. "Get back 'ere!"

I turned. The fighting on the fo'c'sle was done. I saw Jack forced down onto his knees, cutlass blade at his throat, but no sign of the others. One sleeve of Jack's once white shirt was stained dark with blood, but still I caught a glint of gold as he threw me a grin and waved with blithe unconcern. The pirate standing near him whose blade was at his throat took brutal exception to his insouciance, and with a savage blow from the cutlass' basket hilt punched him to the deck.

"No, don't!" I shouted as he drew his leg back for a kick.

He looked at me, an unpleasant sneer twisting his features, and beckoned. Under the circumstances I had little choice but to obey and scrambled towards where he and Jack were from my somewhat precarious refuge on the figurehead. To my relief Jack was still conscious, if somewhat the worse for wear. At our captor's urging, I put my hand under his good arm and hauled him to his feet, whispering to him as I did, with perhaps more than a little sarcasm: "Great plan, Jack."

"Worked, didn't it?" And I had to agree: it had. My thoughts went to Elizabeth. She, at least, would be safe.

The apparent leader of the group of pirates surrounding us gestured with his cutlass for us to precede him. "Cap'n wants to see you, culley," he growled to Jack.

"Well of _course_ he does!" returned Jack expansively, and shaking off my support started towards the quarterdeck with a gait noticeably less steady than normal. I opened my mouth to say something, decided on reflection it wasn't worth it and just hurried after him.

When I reached the quarterdeck, admittedly somewhat behind Jack, there was no mistaking which one of the men there the Captain was, even had Jack not headed straight for him. 'Black Bob' Crauford was tall and lean with pale, ascetic features and long dark hair, dressed from head to toe in funeral black relieved only by the silver mountings on his sword and the pistol hooked onto his belt. He had an undeniable, if sinister presence.

"'Ello Bob," drawled Jack lazily. "It's been an age, 'asn't it."

"Sparrow! Rather a lot of people have said you were dead - on several occasions, in fact. But you do have a quite disagreeable talent for not having the decency to actually _stay_ dead, do you." Crauford's tones were surprisingly aristocratic, and I found myself wondering how much of it was real, and how much pretence. "I think this time I might have to take a personal role in your demise - just to see it's done properly, you understand. There are far too many amateurs around nowadays."

Whatever Jack might have said in reply was lost as a call drifted down from above. "Cap'n! There's a ship approachin' from windward: a three master, an' she's carryin' black sails!"

Black sails! My heart leapt and I fought to keep the grin from my face: the _Black Pearl._ It had to be.

My status as a captive briefly forgotten, I joined the others in looking at her over the rail to see a ship manoeuvring, handling sails and positioning for an attack. My hope was confirmed in an instant. It was without question the _Pearl. _ The dark miasma of the curse no longer swirled around her, but even without it she was a glorious, terrifying, wonderful sight. What I could hear of the frightened mutterings of the _Blood Eagle'_s crew told me that she still held for many of them a superstitious awe.

"I think we might come to an accord, Crauford, don't you?" Jack murmured easily. "'Ow about me an' mine go back to the _Pearl_, leavin' you lot to fix up this tub of yours, 'cos between you an' me, Bob, she's a bit of a mess."

"Why, Sparrow?" Crauford asked, and I could hear the naked suspicion in his voice. "We're dead in the water. I'm assuming that in your absence, your pet harridan, AnaMaria, is in command, and with her at the helm, the _Black Pearl_ could tack and wear, rake us stem to stern, and we couldn't even get a gun to bear."

"True," Jack acknowledged. "Quite true." Then he grinned wolfishly. "But you see, I want the satisfaction of takin' you down ship to ship. I want everyone to know that when it came down to it, I outsailed you, outfought you and then sent you straight to the bottom in a fairer fight than you ever gave any of your victims."

Crauford looked over at the _Pearl_, then back to Jack. A slow, beatific smile spread across his face. "So be it, Sparrow." He bowed slightly, a gentleman duellist agreeing to a challenge, a pirate agreeing an accord. "Until our next meeting, then."

Jack nodded. "Right then," he said, then turned to me. "Time to go, Will." In the ship's waist, some of Crauford's men were swaying out the smallest of the _Blood Eagle_'s boats. With them I saw Gibbs and two other survivors from the _Kathleen_, all of whom sported crude bandages. The five of us got down into the boat and began the long pull over to the _Pearl,_ which had seen the boat and heaved to so as to wait for us.

Halfway across I finally broached the subject that had been nagging at me since Jack brokered our release. "I thought you said you wanted him dead," I began.

He nodded without looking at me. "I do."

"That's what I don't understand. Before the _Pearl_ showed up, you were willing to risk everything, ramming him with the _Kathleen_, and we all know it was only sheer good fortune that as many of us survived that as did. Why didn't you just let the _Pearl_ finish him off?" I protested. "Crauford himself admitted he's a sitting target."

"So 'e is," Jack agreed calmly, finally meeting my gaze before glancing back to the _Blood Eagle_.

I waited for him to go on. He didn't. "Jack?" I warned, my patience fraying.

"Like you said, 'e'd make a lovely target," Jack said wistfully, still looking at her before fixing me with his stare and continuing in much more pointed tones, "that is, if the _Pearl_ were actually carryin' any guns to shoot at 'im with."

What the…?! I just looked at him in utter disbelief.

And I think at that he finally took pity on me and wearily explained. "I told you that when we set out to look for you in the cutter, the _Pearl_ was still bein' fixed up, right?" I nodded, then he went on: "To fix 'er up properly, we 'ad to take the guns out. Takes a long time to do that. Takes 'bout as long to put 'em back, so I knew when I saw 'er, there was no way she'd 'ad time to get all the guns back on board. I took the cutter when I 'eard you'd already left an' that Crauford was huntin' the area, 'cos I couldn't risk waitin' on the _Pearl_. As it is, to 'ave got 'er 'ere as quick she did, AnaMaria must 'ave re-rigged 'er faster than I've ever 'eard of it bein' done."

"So… the _Black Pearl_… the whole 'wanting to outfight him at sea' thing… it was all just a bluff?" I concluded, the anger at not spotting it earlier warring with the sheer relief that it had worked and we weren't going to die after all. "You _bluffed_ him?"

"Pirate!" he reminded, a merry glint in his eye, but the good humour faded quickly, and I knew with total certainty that sometime soon there would come a reckoning between Jack Sparrow and Black Bob Crauford.

And I knew just as certainly, that I intended to be alongside him when it happened.

- Fin -


End file.
